


Days of the future past

by Lisamilles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mute Hermione Granger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisamilles/pseuds/Lisamilles
Summary: “ Ah, it seems I’ve forgotten, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, you can’t talk. I wonder though how much I can prod you till you sing?”A ritual gone wrong. A wrong world. A wrong interest. Is the past the future when you take one step back into it?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Voldemort
Comments: 30
Kudos: 58





	Days of the future past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
  


“Can anyone tell me why mermaid tears are crucial to the elixir of happiness?” Standing in front of the screeching blackboard was a man who was smiling so brightly that the dark eye circles from the hours of marking and teaching were masked. He cheerily added.” Anyone up for grabs?” 

One could hear a pin drop in the silence of the classroom, the man’s gooseberry eyes narrowed across the many faces. Just as his slick mouth was ready to move, a flash of slim arm crossed his vision. The man nodded and with a flick of a vinewood wand, a magical placard automatically levitated from the wooden table. Lines of brightly written cursive writing murmured loudly: _Mermaids are considered to be sacred symbols of beauty in muggle literature and culture- their tears are difficult to obtain as charming a mermaid is not as easy as it sounds. By adding mermaid tears after porcupine quills, stirring anticlockwise, the side effects of excessive singing and nose tweaking._

“Brilliant answer, twenty points to Slytherin!” Slughorn beamed. He continued on with his mundane lesson on Newt Level potions, while many of the students’ eyes were not just on him but the bushy witch nestled in perfectly the middle of the front row. 

The artificial happiness promised by the potion sounded delightful, after hearing the sharp critical murmurs from her peers. 

  
  
  


* * *

It was after potions she had remembered. 

“Granger!” Was called out by a shabbily dressed boy in Ravenclaw robes. Michael Crowne from advanced arithmancy. 

Her frizzy curls bounced off her back as her head snapped around to meet his twinkling grey eyes as he came wandering by. She stared blankly at him when he asked. “ Are you free after dinner tonight? If so, could we study at the library together? I have a couple of arithmancy theory questions I still have doubts on. Your work is always top-notch and no, I’m not asking you to do my homework. Of all the students this year, Hermione I think you are the only one who could help me. “

A small curve of her lips could be seen on the witch as her wand waved to form a myriad of glittery gold words in the air with a simple: Yes. 

She always wanted to tutor someone, if they needed her help. And help she would give. Honestly, it was a breather from the usual requests to copy off the mud blood's homework. At least Crowne bothered to do his own work. That was all the brunette witch needed.

“Brilliant,” The boy brushed his fingers through his dark curly locks. He sheepishly smiled at her. “ See you there then, Hermione?” 

Her heart almost dropped at the mention of her name. Months and months it was ever since Hermione was mentioned anywhere from the mouths of the people around her. Much less so when no one wanted to be near her even. He was a rarity. So was her reply. Whatever, she thought to herself. An empty seat for her bag could easily fix the situation if he ended up being another of a no-show boy. Perhaps it was time that she accepted that nobody wanted her there, that not one single person in between these vast walls that held thousands would care even if she fell off the astronomy tower one day. Maybe that thought was crude, maybe it was reality, maybe she should start reiterating her minutely prayer often.

Mouth parting, her head nodded quickly as her nimble fingers waved him off. 

* * *

Slugging her periwinkle coloured haversack across the room, Hermione wished she could sigh at the state her bed was in. Squid ink doused sheets meant transfiguring one of the clothing pieces from her depleting wardrobe. However, should she be surprised? No, she should not for the number of times this had happened was innumerable. Reporting them to the head of the house would just mean more trouble, she knew that after the three years that had passed by. Horace was nice, sure but a filthy little mudblood trapesing across the waters of Hogwarts in such times meant her opinions were treated like air.

“Yooo hooo,” A coo came out from rouge painted lips, Hermione stared at the prim witch who was tapping her on the shoulder. Her neighbour from the silk ridden bed across hers of a particular Black family had returned from her classes too.

The witch’s smile darkened as her lips quirked, voice lightening up . “ Hi there, I was wondering when are you going to finally learn your place, mudblood? I think a place at Cheryl’s sounds brilliant, don’t you Sweetheart? “ It was a renowned Brothel located in knock turn alley. An innocent name, yet held much crudeness one would expect with its services.

She continued. “But then who would want you?” A pout replaces her smile of a malicious nature. She sneered, scrunching her face at the petite muggle-born witch. “ I mean look at yourself--” Filthy. Little. Mudblood. She could repeat those words from the back to the front of her head. 

While Hermione tuned most of the monotonous drill of the shrill Walburga, she bit her lip. _Ignore her, the airhead knows nothing._ A cynical thought in her head. 

Her dorm mates never really liked her much and neither did Hermione attempt to resolve their indifferences. There was not much hope to begin with from bigotry that was rooted in the hearts of these childish witches who wanted to gain a reaction from her. She wanted nothing to do with them and so ignoring was a good decision. 

After much contemplation, Hermione had decided. She would actually study with Crowne. Give him a chance. It was the first ever study meeting she had done ever since arriving. Some genuine human interaction would do some good for her, Hermione decided. It was quite some time someone who had cared about her at all apart from acwknoledging her meek existence.

* * *

Her study ‘ date’, as many would call it, initially went well. Crowne was a nice boy, decent at least to not mock her of her blood status. Hermione appreciated that, she really did. 

“ Wow,” He moaned. “ Half a foot of parchment for that Bithman theory? Hermione, how do you even manage to do all of this?”

The bushy brunette smiled shyly, a tinge of pink tainting her cheeks before Michael cleared his throat.” I don’t k-know why my friends think you are all...freakish? I’m s-so sorry I didn’t mean that.”

Of course he did, Hermione internally blanched. What Crowne want? A pat on the back for holding up the courage to interact with the Granger freak as many of her peers had dubbed her? What had happened to the brightest witch of her age, she wondered?

“What I wanted to say was that… you’re beautiful!” He blurted out.

Her blush deepened even more as the boy continued his generic list of compliments. She appreciated it, fake positivity was better than none. 

His lips leaned forward, Hermione was panicking internally. What was Crowne planning on doing, was he going to snog her? Just about his lips were to touch hers and her hands ready to push him away, a familiar smooth voice interrupted their moment. 

Michael immediately reddened and pulled away from Hermione as if she was a disease. 

“Riddle.” He lowered his head as a firm masucline voice said. “ I believe curfew has just hit half an hour ago, Mr Crowne and Miss _Granger._ “ The way her surname had rolled off his tongue sounded was a satisfying obscene. “ Pack up and get back to your dormitories soon. And Miss Granger, stay- I need to have a word with you. Crowne, go.” 

The reddened boy shoved his parchments into his snatched and dashed off from the seat.

Hermione immediately stiffened as he approached her. A smile remains on his face, she wishes she could wipe it off that instant. _Tom Riddle._ She had remembered herself smiling at the mirror of Mytle’s bathroom when she repeated that name to herself. 

“ Hello, Miss Granger.” He started off. “It’s rude to not answer, do you know Miss Granger?” 

Her and Riddle, it went a long way back or was it to come? Ever since she had stepped into the threshold of Hogwarts, he has made his disdain very clear to her. It was in the backgrounds of the classrooms of course, nobody wanted to see the perfect school boy harass even a mudblood girl like Hermione. 

His icy blue eyes had always lingered on her where ever she went, be it at the main hall or the classroom. He always knew where she was, Hermione was certain. She had caught him staring at her impassively at times during lessons. Sometimes he follow after and taunt her with his hitting words. Sometimes she wondered if he could leave her alone. She was no special mudblood. She was not considered particularly pretty of any standard. The mudblood who was friendless and nobody liked. But why would school sweetheart Tom Riddle find time to make effortless small talk with someone like her?

  
  


Tom stares at her for a moment before shaking his head. “ Ah, it seems I’ve forgotten Miss Granger. Unfortunately, you can’t talk. I wonder though how much I can prod you till you sing?” 

To others, his words were always carefully chosen. She had heard his speeches during special school events like that winter ball where she had found herself shunned from the boys of her age for a dance. His voice was charismatic, laced with strong confidence. His long assurances regarding the political climate affecting hogwarts were taken to heart by many students and belief essays applauded and cheered for. 

She knew Tom Riddle, from every bit of his deranged soul. But she was sure he had did his fair bit of research on her too. Perhaps this could be the start to the end? If Tom wanted to play with her, sure she would be glad to be a victim in this game of his. After all, the old man had promised her the solution was coming soon. She would be gone. She would finally be home and be free of this misery. Like what the many wizards and witches repeated around her, the muggleborn witch truly did not belong to the era she was living in. 

  
  


“What’s your game, Mudblood?” He raised an eyebrow. “ I wonder if it would be a miracle if you could even make a sound from those pretty lips of yours. Is this real? If so, I think I know there’s a way I could make you scream so loudly that even Dippet could hear from his office.”

Her eyes stayed vacant as her lips gaped slightly. A smirk appeared on his face as he leaned nearer to her, eyes narrowing. “ I’ve watched you, watched you for many months, little mudblood witch. I hope the next time I see you, you’ll be on your knees for me.”

His fingers suddenly grazed across her cheek, he murmurs a soft chuckle as their eyes met. Hermione immediately attempts to pull away, her eyes fleeting away.

But he moves closer to her, he murmurs before reaching out to touch her skin once more. “ So soft. “

“There has been talk that you are a know-it-all, I've watched you for some time and I find that to be true. " He smiled as he lifted her chin, her brown eyes meeting his. Tom seemed to revel in her flinch. “ I have an assignment and I hope you will cooperate with me, little mudblood because if you don’t… hopefully that stage won’t be touched, won’t we?”

Saying that, he got straightened up and firmly said.” Back into the dungeons we go, little mudblood.”

Hermione immediately left, she was sure she could feel the warmth of his body lingering on her skin. How his fingers felt against her chin. Legs moving swiftly across the aged carpet. She could still feel his eyes boring onto the back of her head.

_Don't look back._

_Don't look back._

_Don't look back._

A mantra she repeated in her head. A prayer for her anxieties that was hammered into her mind. A reminder of her pas--

While a lone girl walking through the dimmed hallways, Hermione collected her thoughts. 

They laid no detail of that fateful night. Hermione did not want to remember.

_Don't look back._

Oh Ron was right, she should have stayed.

_Don't look back._

How she was here, in the arms of every one who detested her existence, clueless she was.

_Don't_ _look back._

She did not mean for it to happen. Harry and Cedric had held no chances of surviving that ordeal. Hermione comforted herself with that fact, her sacrifice to live in a harsh world had delayed the inevitable. It could be called foolish, but if Hermione were to jump back into the years ahead or was it behind? She would do it over and over again. 

When Hermione found herself near the end of the hallway, her fist laid dripping with rich crimson that stained the stony wall in front of her eyes. Her chest heaved up and down, vision blurring. Her feet moved once more, not even bothering to clean up the mess she left behind. She wanted out. She never wanted here. She wanted to be so far away. Her lungs were cramping, she was moving. 

Head hitting the soft reminder of her pillow, bed curtains pulled, strong silencing spell. She did not want to face the ceiling, not even a peek. Those images would not replay there in the shapes of shadows. 

Sleep. She told herself. And so she did but in her sleep, those visions came swimming back. They replayed on a rewind. The sharp wind whipping across her skin... the stillness of the air...damp soil staining her boots... how his fingers felt on her throat. Gone now. Gone. But maybe it will be back. She will just have to live through it again if it happens.

The chain that laid hidden by her shirt felt hot against her collar.

For her future past, who knows when she will see it in the front of her eyes again. 

**Author's Note:**

> an experimental draft, let me know what you think about it lol.


End file.
